


Dance With Me

by bigasscutie



Category: Berserk
Genre: M/M, fluffy but angsty, kind of, well same thing only with Griffith, you know that ball scene where Casca takes Guts aside?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigasscutie/pseuds/bigasscutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The music coming from the ballroom filled the tense silence between them, finally Griffith talked. He extended him a pale hand.<br/>“Dance with me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know.

Loud noises. Bright lights. People everywhere. A suffocating crowd, nobles, knights, a king and a queen. They were all standing in the same large room. They blathered, chatted, gossiped, admired, laughed, envied. Most of their hearts were dirty, overflowing with sin and hatred. Malice. Only a few could have been saved, like princess Charlotte’s one, or Rickert’s. Innocent souls blending together in the midst of a corrupt ball. 

Fake smiles, empty words, useless praises were surrounding them, the members of the Band of the Hawk. As cheap women gathered around the white Hawk, the only comfortable one in such a situation among them, Guts looked around and hoped to disappear. If anyone would have told him, years ago, when he still was just a wild child, that he would have ended up to a royal event as that he would have laughed. He wasn’t laughing now. 

He felt his lungs suffocate, now people were addressing him, too. It was women and young girls, they wanted to know how fighting felt like. What he experienced while joining a battle that could either mean death or life, what was it like before. After. They asked him if it was exciting. How could they think that? What did they know? Guts shook his head and told them there was nothing honourable in cutting enemies’ heads. Nothing pretty. Nothing ladies like them, sitting on their comfortable chairs all day, would have found interesting, if anything it would have been despicable. 

They didn’t seem to agree. He wanted them too. He wanted them to close their damned mouths, and leave.

Guts knew that wasn’t his place, he turned his head and observed his friends behaving like heroes. Some more than the other, but none of them looked as anxious, as nervous, as annoyed as he was. Was that really what they had always wished for, the dream they were chasing? Or better, the shallow shadow of Griffith’s own dream. The adoration, the glory. The peace that comes with no more war, only blessed laziness. Guts didn’t understand. He couldn’t. He was born in a battle field, he grew up with a sword held tight in his hands, he lived to fight. To battle. To kill and to feel the rush of it running in his veins; that was what gave him peace. What made him feel alive. Different.

Was that his main goal? His berserk dream? 

He freed himself of those filthy arms touching him casually, of the high voices echoing in his head as tone-deaf birds, of the wrong faces, and walked away from the tiny crowd around him. Guts needed a break. He needed to breathe, to hide away and pretend he was just a statue there. Not meant to talk, socialize, see or be seen. He sat down in one of the benches he found placed against the wall and let go of the tension that was keeping him standing. He explored the ballroom with tired eyes, he spotted Casca. 

Guts gasped slightly the moment he saw her: she was wearing a dress. A dress as beautiful as every other woman’s there, but her shoulders were too large, her chest too muscular, her arms too much like the ones of a warrior. He smiled, he liked it that way. She looked beautiful, he could have never denied that. Guts and Casca weren’t the best of friends, but they had come to grow fond of each other with the passing of time. Guts respected her as a woman and as a valid fighter, she was strong. She was passionate. She was loyal, clever, impulsive but talented. There, a man harassing her, probably asking her to dance with him and join every other person swinging around the hall, she looked out of place too. Just like him. Another reason to make him smile, scoff. He almost laughed, they were two outsiders dressed up to impress, to be adored by a world they didn’t care about. To be near an unstoppable man who had touched them both, deeply. 

“Is there something amusing you?” 

Guts startled when, too focused on staring at Casca, a familiar soothing voice spoke to him. He turned his head up and smirked, sighed. 

“Griffith.” He greeted him. 

The man with long white hair tied up in a loose ponytail tilted his head and looked in the same direction Guts’ eyes were set on before. He smiled, a soft wrong smile. 

“Are you laughing at our friend?” 

“What? No! No… I wasn’t laughing at her. It’s strange to see her with a dress on, that’s all.” 

“Do you think she’s pretty?” 

Guts gulped, that wasn’t a kind of question he would have expected from Griffith. He looked down at his hands and played with his callous fingers, palms, ruined nails. He frowned, wondering what the answer to that question was. 

“I guess.” He opted for a vague reply, not sure how much Griffith would have cared. It seemed like he did, though, when Guts looked up and saw the other man staring at him. His bright blue eyes were serious, uncommon, wide; so intense Guts could have burned under their gaze. 

Guts reciprocated the long look, getting lost in a world he still couldn’t understand. Before he could open his mouth and break the silence, someone interrupted them. 

“Lord Griffith! Please, come and sit with us! Maybe we could dance-” 

“Come.” 

Guts observed the naive girl walking towards them, an arm stretched ahead as if to reach for Griffith, she seemed joyful. Desperate for attention. He was already mentally preparing to see Griffith leave, to be alone, to say goodbye, when the other grabbed his wrist tightly and quickly pulled him up. He was stronger than he seemed, to be able to raise such a big man as Guts. 

“Wait-” 

Guts let Griffith drag him away from the illuminated room, away from annoying women, needlessly proud men, only the music of violins gently following them outside as if it was being played for their escape alone. The voices of the crowd stopped bothering him once they stepped on the banquet hall’s terrace, far from the ball, far from everyone else. No one could see their figures step aside and lean against the majestic building’s cold wall. Guts could finally think again, breathe again, he liked it out there. The night taking them in her sweet dark embrace, fresh wind filling their panting lungs with air that smelled like roses and wet grass. 

Guts’ head bent over, Griffith regaining his breath. They laughed, beginning with a surprised smile and ending with a loud pleasant chuckle. Oh, how Guts loved the sound of Griffith’s laughter. His beaming wide smile too. It made him sad, miserable, complete, happy.

Eventually they both calmed down, Guts stood against the wall, Griffith leant on the railing of the terrace. They were merely a few strides away from each other, but it felt like an entire ocean to Guts. He looked at him with the face of a child first discovering affection, he enjoyed the way the moonlight was kissing his pale skin, forming silver waves out of his long curly hair. Griffith, as usual, looked beautiful. Feminine, regal, strong, fragile, perfect, untouchable. Unreachable. 

Guts’ chest ached, the memory of Griffith’s words scratching his simple heart. They were not equals. They were not friends. Guts was a loyal, maybe the best, subordinate, but he didn’t have a dream. He wasn’t chasing it. Griffith needed a friend ready to fight for his own purposes, and Guts had already decided he would have travelled and long thought and battled to find them. To fulfil them. To come back to that man, that now stood in front of him firm as a god, and show him that he was worth of his utter respect. 

“Guts.” He called his name, and he blinked, unable to look away even now that their eyes locked in the dim light. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you take me here, why did you ignore that girl? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to all kinds of people and convincing them how worth of praise are you, or something like that?” Guts didn’t know what he was saying, truly.

“I should.” Griffith nodded, looking up at the stars and letting the wind run through his hair. 

“Then go back. I’m sure you’re already getting in trouble for this.” Guts complained, nervous amusement in his voice. 

“Do you want me to go?”

“What-” 

Griffith gave a little push to the railing behind him and took a light agile step towards Guts. He watched, straightened his back, waited with a lump in his throat for Griffith to near him. He swallowed hard, admiring his determined face drowning in the shadow of the palace. In the light or in the darkness, Griffith remained as breathtaking as always. 

“Why are  _ you  _ here, then?” He questioned. 

“Mh? You know why. You gave me a job to do, I’m only waiting for the right moment to leave.” Guts explained, not able to look at him anymore. He was there to wait for Griffith to drop fake-dead under everyone’s eyes, to leave the building, to catch the guilty. To kill. To obey another order. Not that he minded, he didn’t, he was happy to do him one last favour. 

“I’m not talking about that. I mean why are you right here, right now, with me. You could go back.” Guts’ head snapped up, he was confused. Griffith was the one who had dragged him out there, but now he was making it as if it was Guts who wanted them to be alone. The one making him believe that. 

“I don’t want to.” The words left his mouth on their own, guided by a spell Guts wasn’t aware of. He only realized he had said them a few moments later, when his cheeks flushed, Griffith looked at him with wide pleased eyes. Guts was, sometimes, scared of those blue eyes, as if they were the ones of a predator and he, among everyone else, was his favorite prey. The one a hunter wants to kill, but can’t ever let go of. And so they let it live. 

“Why are you here.” Griffith asked again, but it wasn’t a question. It was a command. 

“I guess.. I just wanted to see this, your world, what all of you achieved looked like outside the battlefield.”  _ Before I leave,  _ he added in his head. 

“Oh?” Griffith took another step forward. “And what do you think of it?” 

Guts shrugged. “‘S not as great as everyone makes it sound like.” That made Griffith chuckle. 

“I know, Guts. I know this is not your world, but it can be. Wars won’t end, wars are only beginning.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“My own kingdom, Guts. You will stay by my side, my strong right hand, never stop fighting as I rule over the world.” He said it as if Guts didn’t have a choice.  _ You will,  _ not  _ you can. You could.  _ Griffith got closer, close enough to raise a hand and brush his long fingers against Guts’ arm. Slowly. 

“You really think you can make it, huh?” Guts joked, did he? “What if I’m not going to be there…” He whispered, still thinking, obsessing over Griffith’s distant loud words. The other man heard, he let his hand fall, his arm lifeless. 

Guts dared, he raised his gaze and found Griffith in front of him. His fists clenched, his lips a tight line. He shouldn’t have said that, but he was never expecting a reaction like that: Griffith looked as if someone had just stabbed him, eyes looking at nothing ahead. 

“Griffith?” 

“You are.” He said, threatened, almost. 

Then, Griffith’s body, face, lips and eyes relaxed and he went back to be his usual self. Guts frowned, that slight change had been so quick, but not invisible. He wanted to ask, to talk, he wanted to tell him he would have left eventually, but how could he bring himself to do such a thing? To break Griffith’s heart? His own heart? Guts had been confident Griffith would have been strong, but could he say the same after those two scared words? 

The music coming from the ballroom filled the tense silence between them, finally Griffith talked. He extended him a pale hand. 

“Dance with me.” 

Guts couldn’t help but blush. “What!” He laughed, waving his hand and shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not, I don’t dance! I don’t even know how. And- and you’re a man, I’m not…We can’t.” 

“Can’t we? Is there a law saying two men can’t dance with each other?” Griffith stared at him with his huge innocent eyes. It reminded Guts of the same pure look he had given him the first time they had fought, when he had refused to join the Hawks. Some things never change.

“I’ll just step on your toes.” Guts scratched the back of his neck and looked down, embarrassed. Griffith looked so composed, like it was all normal to him. Natural, even. 

“I won’t care.” He touched Guts’ trembling hand, because they both knew deep down that Guts never would have made the first move without any help. Griffith took his hand and held it up, there, to their side. Then, he placed the other one on Guts’ waist and, before he knew it, or before he could complain, stop, talk, he made them both spin once. His hair beautifully flying in the wind with grace, Guts almost shocked.  

“Griffith-” 

The man shushed him gently, leading him around the terrace, following the soft music’s rhythm. Guts’ feet were going where the other was guiding him, clumsy, unsure, but he felt safe in his arms. Completely different from a fight, even though going to battle together was like a dance. One wrong step, and it would have ended. Two steps right, it meant the same kind of pleasant thrill.

He felt like there was nothing wrong, like he would never have left, either. The night’s magic filled his head with hopes and expectations that didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. He raised his eyes up, which were still looking down at their steps, and shivered. Griffith’s eyes were focused on him, a darkness in them Guts had never noticed, and then the other smiled. It was genuine, that time, like he truly meant it. 

Wrapping his hand farther around Guts’ waist he moved closer, their bodies touching together. Guts felt his chest tighten, his stomach stir. Dancing, inches apart, was a thing. This, was something else entirely and Guts had never really gotten over his childhood trauma. He didn’t like it when people touched him, didn’t like it when men got too close. It was true, with the years and the trust he’d managed to put in his friends, in Griffith, he had learned to care less, but… 

He almost pulled back when Griffith’s pace slowed down, like a wind fading out, and placed his head against his strong chest. His heart beat faster. His breath stopped. His hand unconsciously squeezed Griffith’s tighter. But Griffith wasn’t hurting him, he wasn’t a threat, it was okay. Guts, hesitantly, afraid, brought his free hand from his back to the other’s nape, resting it there over his soft hair. Holding Griffith felt like holding a weak child, a powerful man, like fighting a war against a fate that didn’t want them to stay together. 

It was strange, he had to admit, to slowly dance in small circles with Griffith in his arms. He could feel the pleasant warmth coming from his body, his sweet smell, the way his hand was delicately caressing his back, his head hidden in the crook of his own neck. His breath on his skin. Time didn’t exist for them, the night an endless one, the moon cradling them in its white light and the music as their private lullaby. Even the stars looked still, not moving an inch in the dark wide sky. Guts looked up, running a kind, carefree, worried hand in Griffith's hair once, involuntarily. 

Guts wondered if Griffith was okay, he almost asked. The music stopped. 

Silence. 

“Mine.” Griffith whispered.A hand clung to his shirt in the back, it let go.

Had Guts heard right? The silver-haired man sighed carefully, and moved his head back to look up at Guts. He stared down at him and felt his heart stop, this time, he was paralyzed. Hypnotized. Fascinated, broken. He drank in every bit of Griffith’s face, from his bright blue possessive eyes reflecting the stars above them to his shining skin, from his sharp features to his full pink lips. It was like looking at a surreal painting, he was beautiful beyond man’s comprehension. Guts felt trapped, he felt free, he didn’t notice Griffith’s hand moving to his cheek until it touched him and he held his breath. 

Long fingers explored the burning side of his scarred face, the front, the back of his neck. Guts was about to melt away, he wanted nothing more than feeling that warm, cold feeling against him for the rest of his life, something blocking him from stepping away. From leaning in. 

Their lips brushed, touched, pressed together in a single long kiss. 

Guts closed his eyes shut, he cupped Griffith’s cheeks, he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t know he had wished for this until then, holding him so near that he could feel every inch of his body against his. He could enjoy the biting savour of his lips, he could experience what only few other men had experienced. And never like that. Guts was sure that Griffith had never kissed anyone else like he was kissing him, right then, right there. He loved the thought. It scared him to death. 

Griffith’s hand moved to the back of his head, he pulled, he gripped his short dark hair, and when Guts gasped lightly he took the chance to deepen the kiss, to slide in and press their tongues together, drowning in the sudden desire. Guts could taste him, too. The taste of a man who knew what he was wishing for, who knew how to get it, who wanted  _ too much.  _ There was a magnetic strength connecting them, a feeling that was overwhelming Guts more and more and that, if someone wouldn’t have stopped him, would have taken him deeper into that thrilling hell that Griffith was. 

Someone did stop them, though. 

“Lord Griffith! Where are you?” A voice yelled and Guts jumped, separating himself from Griffith and feeling his heart explode. Griffith stared at him with his lips parted,  _ almost  _ out of breath, he blinked. He looked completely calm, collected and relaxed. Guts, who was still frowning, trying to adjust his clothes, saw him sigh. 

“Ah! There you are, silly! The king is calling for you for the nomination ceremony!” The noble girl chuckled, glanced at Guts for a mere second, and waved at Griffith to go back.

“Just a moment, we’ll be right there.” He talked like a true nobleman. Something Guts would never have been. 

“Of course!” She smiled, bowed, and left. 

Griffith turned around, Guts was smiling. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that that would have been one of the last clear memories he would have of that man. That man he so much admired, adored, loved. Forever.

Griffith smiled back, even though their eyes bore an incredible sadness behind them, and caressed Guts’ face one last time. The caress of a dangerous angel. 

“Let’s go.” He said, his voice confident and gentle at the same time. Guts nodded. He was ready, because he was sure, now. 

Time would have brought them together again, eventually. 

**Author's Note:**

> This might all be out of character, I really have no idea....... I just wanted to write about them. *cries*


End file.
